Granny

On Tuesday morning - the day after her 91st birthday - my wonderful grandmother died. My sister has written a lovely post about her over here which says everything that I could hope to say, aside from that I'd also add about her fixation with the British Royal Family, leading to a serious Hello magazine / Point de Vue addiction and a habit of naming her budgies after ill-fated royal couples (Charles and Diana, Andrew and Fergie.) She was a fabulous woman who seems to be laughing in all of my memories, and will be very sadly missed by my family.

Please excuse a bit of silence from me while I try to adjust after a difficult stretch in Uganda, as well as this time of grieving. It is all a bit much and I can't seem to find the creative energy to be writing about it. Back to normal as soon as I can.

Dispatch from Uganda

Last night I dreamt about Strictly Come Dancing. Well, it was Saturday after all. And then woke up under mosquito netting with the sound of Gandalady's kids playing in the next room. Yes, I am still in Uganda.

What hits you first about Uganda is the colours. Bright red earth, lush dark green vegetation and on a day like today a bold blue sky too (it is rainy season, so there has been a lot of cloud.) The dark black skin of the people. The jewel colours of school uniforms. And every shop that you pass - and almost every building you pass is a shop, even if a tiny bedraggled one the size of the cupboard under the stairs - is painted the bright colours of a company's brand, the hot yellows and pinks of the local mobile phone suppliers, the blood red of Coke, royal blue of Pepsi, and slogans, slogans everywhere: "Live on the Coke side of life!" "Cadbury's tastes as chocolatey as it looks!" "Africa's official drink of having a drink!"

And then the movement. People everywhere. Lorries, minibuses, cars, motorbikes, bicycles all weaving in and out of each other's dust. Nominally you drive on the left here. In fact it is survival of the fittest, or at least the biggest wheels. And anyway, the "left" might just be a great big hole. Cows, goats and chickens share the road with you, somehow managing to avoid getting hit. Ugandan cows have huge, long, curling horns that you really don't want wrapped around your fender. They move at a leisurely pace, unshockable. I suspect they are all deaf.

Oh yes, the noise! From those lorries, minibuses, cars and motorbikes, all hooting as loud as they can... And from the ubiquitous radio. The local stations are called Radio One and Capital FM. Sounds familiar? There is one English man who does all the jingles for every station before handing over to the Ugandan accented DJs. I imagine him as a young, blond dude hanging out at Kampala's swimming pools drinking cold beers and waiting for another radio station to start up. Ugandan taste in muic is broad. Sometimes a little too broad. If Phil Collins is tired of England he could start a new life here no problem. My personal preference is for the Dolly Parton that I hear everywhere, in cars, in hotels, on ths stereo in bars. "Coat of Many Colours" seems too appropriate here.

Everyone is warm and friendly. Elaborate greetings and even more elaborate handshakes from each person that you meet. The trick is to hold out your hand as limp as you can and let it be manipulated until the other person feels like stopping. Some handshakes defy even this manoeuvre. An elderly man holds out his arm, hand facing down. A village woman kneels at your feet.

People dress as smartly as they possibly can. Immaculately dressed women, every garment meticulously ironed, not a speck of dust on them despite the ankle-deep red mud, must look at me - creased and crumpled clothes from the bottom of the suitcase, Crocs on my feet (what looks ludicrous in London is perfect for rainy season Uganda) - and wonder what on earth I am playing at. Or perhaps they don't. A Ugandan woman speaks admiringly of the simplicity of European life. Even our politicians ride bicycles. (David Cameron's face is the first that I see stepping into my hotel, on a screen showing Sky News on the wall above check in.)

In the heart of this embracing, enveloping, charming culture is a hard stone. The people are poor. Poverty is boring to write about. What is there to say? We have money, they don't have money. We have stuff, they don't have stuff. I drive for three hours out of Kampala. Every single person I pass is poor. In the villages, you are wealthy if you have a second room to your mud hut, if you can eat more often than once a day. A family proudly display a clock, their only luxury. It doesn't tell the time. We ask whether a local school needs books. They reply that first of all they need a classroom.

Another stone: the threat to girls of enforced sex. From anyone, everyone. Primarily their teachers. How else to get good grades? Girls are sometimes pushed into sex with older men by their own families. It is a useful way to get them out of the house. After a while they get desensitised and then the borders between the exploited and the exploiter are more confusing. Girls will offer sex for university entrance, for one chapati. What does informed consent mean now? There are signs everywhere promoting abstinence. Posters in school read: "Young people refuse gifts for sex", "virginity is heathly for boys and girls", "sex does not make breasts grow" (It doesn't? Damn it). Huge billboards show a large, middle-aged African man: "Would you let this man have sex with your teenage daughter? Then why are you with his? Cross generational sex stops with you." I feel sorry for the model who has posed for the photograph. I visit a project for sex workers in Kampala. They sit guardedly, arms folded across their fronts, no elaborate handshakes from them. There are 3000 prostitues in just this one suburb. They tell stories of underage rape, unwanted pregnancy, being thrown out of home, that the sex trade is the only way they can make money. They are raped by their clients, they are raped by the police. The project promotes condom use. "We can make men wear condoms, but we are still sex workers", points out one woman: in other words, what is the point? They all want other jobs. But there are no other jobs. And for each one that leavs - or more likely, dies - there is another to take her place.

I say good bye, step back to the car. Dolly Parton on the stereo again: "Working nine to five". Did she mean nine at night until five in the morning? We drive off into the city. Everywhere, people smiling, working hard, making things, buying, selling, struggling to make a living, doing the best that they can. Children see our car passing and wave with excitement at the white people inside. It's a beautiful country.

Uganda

Yes Uganda! I am heading there today for the charity Plan International as part of their Because I Am A Girl campaign. I'll be writing about the lives of Ugandan girls for an anthology published by Vintage which is due out in January 2010 - put the date in your diary now! I won't remind you! Well maybe I might.

The other authors taking part are Irvine Welsh, Joanne Harris, Kathy Lette, Deborah Moggach, Henning Mankell, Tim Butcher and Xiaolu Guo. And maybe Jeanette Winterson. In fact I should probably say that the whole list is subject to change, I don't want to get into trouble... But yeah, good company huh? Mainly it's a reminder that I really need to get a website that I didn't just throw together myself one afternoon, and that I update more often than once every six months. Praise be for Tim Butcher who doesn't seem to have a website at all.

So, what will I be doing in Uganda? Visiting some of Plan's projects and the people that they help. I'll be spending about four days in a village around three hours drive from the capital Kampala, as well as meeting some girls who are sex workers in Kampala itself. I will also be finding time to drop in on Gandalady. I'm hoping to be able to blog about my experiences while I'm there, but obviously not with the kind of regularity to which you have almost become accustomed except that every so often I skip a day without warning. However, allowing for power cuts, computer stubbornness and dysentery, I might not blog until I get back at the beginning of November, so please don't assume that no news is bad news (except perhaps for my guts).

Meanwhile enjoy the end of the month, and just in case you were tempted to get all jealous about my departure for warmer climes, don't forget that it's rainy season...

UPDATE: From an e-mail I just got, I realised I should have made clear: we authors are all going to different countries, so I am off to Uganda by myself! (With Plan representatives.) Not sure whether I'll ever get a chance to meet the other authors...

Strictlywatch 2008: Week 5 Results

So I was almost right - Heather was in the bottom two, only with Don rather than Andrew, and pulled off a better-performed dance in the dance-off, leaving Don to go. Lilia seemed genuinely upset and so was I, I will miss Don's manners and the smile that makes him look like a small boy. Otherwise, the results show was mainly notable for the return of Alesha Dixon, singing a very catchy though not exactly good song (a sort of cross between Bills Bills Bills and Mambo Number 5) and dancing in the kind of platform heels I wouldn't even be able to stand up in.

Next week Paso Doble. I LOVE Paso Doble. Sadly I am scheduled to be in Uganda, but as long as my PVR cooperates I will review it on my return.

Meanwhile, note the rumours over on Strictly TV that either Len or Bruce is leaving. An explanation for the appearance of John Barrowman perhaps? Who would you like as the new judge, or the new presenter?

Strictlywatch 2008: Week 5

Strictly Come Dancing? More like Slickly Come Hair Oil. I first noticed it on Tom Chambers. His tidily combed barnet reminded me of when Calvin in Calvin & Hobbes clones himself as a goody-goody. Hang on let me see if I can find a pic...


Hmm - well that's the best I can do. Anyway, then I noticed it on James. And then I realised that all the men dancing the American Smooth had had their hair Smoothed down in maximum unflattering fashion, like that episode of Seinfeld with the ineffectual shower heads:



Believe me, it must have been pretty bad to distract me from Mark Foster in THAT mesh shirt. And I don't mean that in a good way.

But to the dances - I believe that is what I am here for.

First up, Rachel and Vincent dancing samba. Is Rachel bribing wardrobe to get the only decent dresses? Anyway this dance didn't get much love from the judges which surprised me because it was probably my favourite of hers so far. Having said that I essentially mark her and Vincent on sleaze, and as each week Vincent is getting less slimy, each week I like them more. Rachel still needs to get more charismatic to really convince me with her dancing though.

Next, Brendan and Lisa's American Smooth. Judges went wild over this which surprised me again, because although I did like it, much more than any of their other dances, it pales next to to the obvious comparison of Brendan and Kelly's, even with the legitimate number of lifts. I can't quite see Lisa as a real contender for the top spot, more a steady middle of the table player.

Then Heather and Brian dancing the samba. Brian's Latin is so phenomenal that he may be taking over as professional I'd most like to dance with. However I don't think it's doing Heather any favours because she just looks so wooden next to him. Her training videos always look great but she's terrible on the dancefloor, which is making me wonder if nerves are a factor. Anyway I expect to see them in the bottom two again this week, though there is a lot of competition for that spot.

Cherie and James up next, dancing an American Smooth to an acoustic version of Layla. Weird choice of music - the dance is lovely but the song sort of deads the whole thing out. If they'd danced to some gorgeous old showtune I'd have loved it, but to this I was a little bit bored. Tess couldn't resist making a comment about Cherie's looks again this week. MY GOD YOU'RE OLD - SO OLD! AND YET NOT GROSS! read my own personal subtitles.

Then Mark Foster, dancing a samba, apparently in fetish wear. In the training video, Mark was told he needed acting lessons, and so John Barrowman was called in. Acting lessons from *John Barrowman*? John Barrowman of *Torchwood*?? Did anybody think this through? Anyway, cynical old me can't help but feel that this plus the mesh shirt was a coded message to gay Strictly fans, as in: you may not be aware that Mark Foster is gay, but he is! Look at his clothes! Look at his friends! Vote for him! Sadly acting lessons have only succeeded in turning Mark from a shy man who can't dance to a shy man who can't dance but has been taught how to pretend he is not embarrassed shimmying in public. He looked less as if he'd been getting lessons from John Barrowman and more as if he'd been possessed by Gary Rhodes. But I think he will stay in this time, as a reward for his enthusiasm.

Don and Lilia followed this up with an American Smooth which served mainly to make me think that the tango was Don's finest hour and it isn't getting any better than that. Don is endearingly nervous and has a lovely smile, but that might well not be enough to save him. Still, I am going to stick my neck out here and say that there's no room at the bottom for him this time.

Austin next, with a samba. I am going to have to stage an intervention to get Erin to dye her hair black again. And maybe to eat some pies. I miss the old, dark, normal-sized Erin. Anyway, I find Austin puzzling, because he is blatantly really good, and yet I still haven't quite fallen in love with his dancing. Could this be the first year that my favourite doesn't win Strictly?

Then Andrew and Ola with an American Smooth. I actually can't remember a thing about this except that I didn't like it, despite the fact that one of the people dancing was Ola, and I love Ola. Andrew is one of those people who makes my skin crawl for reasons I can't elucidate. It's interesting, or possibly not, that this is also a description of every single other man I can think of who has played Tennis for England. Also, Ola did him no favours choreographing to "You know I'm no good". I think these things work subliminally on the audience. Last week Jessie went out having danced to Help. Anyway, the other spot in my predicted bottom two is reserved for them, and I'd like to see them go home.

Next up, Christine and Matthew's samba. Christine is good, but she's not good enough to stand out, and even though I adore Matthew his choreography is never show-stopping, so this is another of those ones I can't remember. In fact, when Bruce announced that Christine was up next, I was like: Oh, I had completely forgotten about her.

I had not completely forgotten about Jodie and Ian however. I love them. I love them as a couple, and I love Jodie, who talks cheerfully about being a talentless, graceless dancer, and sort of gallumphs around the rehearsal room like she's waltzing in wellies, and yet sort of gets on with it without too much fuss and then, tonight, comes out and dances a really lovely American Smooth. I particularly like Jodie's dancing face, and I'm not being sarcastic for once. She has a really charming natural smile. I don't think she's any kind of dark horse, whatever Arlene says, and she's bound to go out in a few weeks, but I'd like her to stay in as long as possible. And consider the evidence: she improved! She's being called a dark horse! Yup, it's a Strictly Journey all right.

John and Kristina then took to the floor with their Samba. Got to hand it to Kristina, choreographing to Papa Loves Mambo, a song about a rubbish old bloke dancing. They sort of walked around the floor, except one bit when John did lots of tiny little steps. It was, as you'd expect, completely charming, and you've got to love John's offhand remark that the public will save them. Indeed they will.

Last up Tom and Camilla with a great American Smooth. I am enjoying Tom so much that it's rubbing off on Camilla and I am starting to like her too. I know! Despite the cardinal sin of wearing culottes, Camilla had been dressed in a white-and-sepia-coloured outfit which made it actually look as if they were in a black and white movie. Tom's dance was lovely, and he is using acting faces to great advantage. Much was made of Tom's getting married tomorrow, but I think it's next week rather than this week which could show the strain of that, especially as Camilla is going on honeymoon with him. Would we like that, ladies? No we would not. What about you, gents? Any thoughts?

So there we go! Definitely much more exciting this week now that the blokes and girls are dancing together, even Tess's enthusiasm seemed genuine. Dances to be found in the usual place.

Here's One I Wrote Earlier

By the time you read this post I will be on my way to the Frankfurt Book Fair, to be interviewed by German and Swiss journalists for the release of "Gotter Ohne Manieren", available in all good German and Swiss-German bookshops now, schnell schnell! But happily Blogger allows me to post in advance, which is a nice little feature. (Another nice little feature is my new-style blog-roll with snippets from recently updated blogs, over there on your right. How much are we loving that? How much time are we going to waste now? Per-lenty.)

Anyway, seeing as I am headed to a book fair, I thought it was a good time to update you on my book purchases from this recent post, and let you know what's on my new to-read pile.

First up, The Position by Meg Wolitzer. This is the one about the kids who discover that their parents have written and posed for the illustrations for a Joy of Sex style book. This is one of those state-of-America-through-one-family books, exploring different aspects of modern love and sex (very much not the same thing) by switching viewpoints between the four kids - now grown up - and their parents. The nearest touchpoint for tone and content that I can think of is Jonathan Frantzen's The Corrections. Like that book, it's sharp, insightful, intelligent and funny - though maybe a little less funny than I expected - and pleasingly broad in scope. It's also of the most convincing novels about sex (as opposed to novels featuring lots of sex) that I've read. My only disappointment was that there wasn't more of it - which is the best kind of disappointment to have, as it tends to mean you enjoyed everything there was. The story leaps forward thirty years after the first chapter, and you gradually discover what has become of each member of the family in the interim, but with so many characters and so much time covered what you get can feel sketchy. Having said that, this comes highly recommended from me.

Next is The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank. This was the biggest surprise of the three. It's marketed as chick lit - consider the blurb:

When it comes to the mating game, Jane's still learning how to play. As a teenager she tried to understand relationships by watching her elder brother falling in and out of love, and now, older and wiser, she embarks on her own affairs. There's the boyfriend with the irritatingly beautiful ex; the witty and worldly older man; the commitment phobic who calls her 'honey' but never uses her name. Plenty of fish in the sea - but how do you meet a man worth catching? When she finally resorts to 'How To Meet And Marry Mr Right', a hilariously old-fashioned guide to hunting out and reeling in the man of your dreams, Jane discovers that with love, life and men, a girl doesn't need rules...

OK. Stop there. THIS BOOK IS NOT CHICK LIT. The usual caveat: there's nothing wrong with chick lit if that's what you like. There's a lot wrong with marketing things as chick lit when that's not what they are. What happens when you do that is loads of people who would love the book never read it, and an equal amount who want chick lit leave baffled comments on Amazon saying it wasn't what they expected. Anyway, what this book actually is is a portrait of a young woman told through interlinked stories about her relationships with the men in her life: not just her boyfriends, but her brother and father. It's thoughtful and considered, a character study most of all, honest and truthful about the roles men play in our lives, and how confusing and difficult it can be to figure out when and whether love should be lasting. Yes, it's about relationships, and yes, it is funny, and yes, it is written by a woman, but it doesn't conform to the tone or any of the conventions of the chick lit genre. It's a very good book which needs a different audience to the one it's going to get.

Last of all Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban. This book is set in a post-apocalyptic England steeped in a mythology that has evolved from a combination of Christian myth and the history of the cataclysm that has broken the world. Narrated in an idiosyncratic English that has evolved - or deteriorated - from our tongue, it's a technically demanding but richly rewarding story of one boy trying to make sense of his life, his heritage and his place in the world. It's an excellent, unique book, linguistically brilliant - at the author's request, it has never been translated, because the language is so integral to the storytelling - and worth every effort that you are asked to make with the prose. So yet another enthusiastic recommendation from me.

Three from three! I wonder if my latest haul will prove so rewarding? On the new pile:

- Michal Ondaatje 'In the Skin of a Lion' - the predecessor to 'The English Patient'
- Margaret Atwood 'Moral Disorder' - her latest, a book of interweaving stories telling one woman's life
- E.M. Forster 'Where Angels Fear To Tread' - a classic that I know very little about
- Penelope Fitzgerald 'The Blue Flower' - set in 18th Century Germany, based on the true story of Friedrich von Hardenberg's engagement to a twelve year old girl.

Questions of the Day

Is leftover apple crumble the nicest breakfast in the world?

Did they deliberately choose the most depressed sounding woman they could to do the station announcements on London Overground, because otherwise the constant delays would sound smug?

Speaking of which, do the staff at Marks and Spencer in Camden get special training to cope with the looped announcement telling you to hold the handrail while travelling on the extremely slow and non-steep moving walkway, which can be heard echoing throughout the clothes department at all times without a second's rest between announcements?

Would Richard and Judy's new show be getting higher ratings if it wasn't called "Richard and Judy's New Position", thus forcing you to imagine them having sex?

And so say all of us.

Here's something I hate: the use of the Royal We in reviews*. Take, for example, Sharon O'Connell's recent write-up of Antony and the Johnsons in Time Out:

"This may be verging on the sacrilegious, but we like the idea of AATJ rather more than we like their music and, if we focus too much on Hegarty's voice... its mannered wobble does our head in."

Who is this we? Ms O'Connell and the whole of the staff of Time Out? Ms O'Connell and her mates? Ms O'Connell and her dog? Ms O'Connell and the Queen? I think "we" should be told. In any case it's a bit weird that they only have the one head between them.

This is on my mind of late because the same Sharon O'Connell delivered a devastating attack on the Ting Tings back in January, which employed the same "we" tactic. At the time I had never heard the Ting Tings, but the viciousness of the review, coupled with the use of "we" implying the weight of multiple concurring opinions, caused me not to bother to listen to their album until I heard it at a friend's house and realised that it was, in fact, great. I had been so subconsciously convinced by the use of "we" in the review that everyone was on the same page about the shitness of the Ting Tings that I didn't even have the confidence to seek out my own opinion. Sad. Last Friday I went to their gig and absolutely loved it - they're brilliantly energetic live and push their album tracks up to the proverbial eleven. Had I not heard the album by chance, I wouldn't have had that great night out. And it was a great night out. Even if the mythical "they" disagree.

Ultimately using the "we" is a bit of a cheat, hiding your opinions in a group in order to make the reader feel like the left-out fool should he or she disagree. It totally defeats the notion of a review being just my opinion, no more valid than anyone else's. WE think so. Therefore YOU are wrong.

Special prize to the first person to comment saying that the Ting Tings really are shit**.

*Of course I have probably done it myself at some point. But we do love that David Tennant, now, don't we?

**Not really.

Help required!

You lot are amazing. I write about having trouble with my computer, you post detailed instructions on how to fix it. I write about my mind turning to mush, you post links to interesting free lectures at UCL. I write about not being able to find Dick in a Box, you post Dick in a Box. It's like being friends with Google.

So here's another one. (This may not be my most interesting post ever.) I currently own a pair of Sennheiser PX200 headphones. I love them in almost every way. They are small. They are light. They are folding. They are comfortable. They give good sound. They are closed, so no noise leakage, and they don't bother other people. However, they have a loose wire, so one ear keeps cutting out unless I hold the cable at a certain angle. That's the second time this has happened with this model of headphones - the first was within a week, so I sent them back - and a perusal of the cheaper Sennheiser phones on Amazon throws up at least one "cable got loose" review per model so they are obviously all poor quality. Which means I really don't want to waste money on another pair like this.

Here's the question: can you recommend some decent headphones, not too pricy, which have many or (dare I dream it) all the qualities of my px200s, aside from the lousy cable?

Strictlywatch 2008: Week 4 Results

Another five minutes off the running time, corresponding to not getting the boys to trot out their Rueda again. There's still a fair bit of padding flying around (and I don't just mean the female dancers' bras, tiddy boom) and this week the guests were SIMPLY RED for Pete's sake, who not only are ghastly eighties throwbacks but I thought had broken up, though I couldn't actually be sure they weren't being fronted by Jon Culshaw, so maybe they have. But I loved all the celebrity dances - the American Smooth is my favourite dance anyway, the Latin guests were fabulous and so quick they looked as if they were on fastforward, and Ian and Camilla's was brilliantly cheesy with so many BIG FACES that it actually made me like Camilla. I'm so fickle.

As for the result, I'm with Len - on the strength of the dance off I'd have sent Heather home and kept Jessie. I'm still in shock at the public by and large voting off the couples who deserve to go - is this a result of not being allowed to vote all week any more, so it's less about popularity and more about the dances? If so it's an excellent development. Though having said that I was so glad to see Jodie and Ian stay in, perhaps slightly undeservingly, because they are such a great couple. (I get to be a hypocrite - it's my blog.) And I think Jodie is top candidate for going on a Strictly "Journey" this series. Hurrah!